The Voiceless Devotion of John Watson
by Blogger221B
Summary: In which Sherlock finds John's old diaries. In them he discovers that his best friend has an unspoken compassion for... wait, who? Kid!Lock and Teen!Lock, as well as eventual JohnLock. Enjoy reading:)
1. Preface (PLEASE READ)

**PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU START SO EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE :)**

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Key:

**John's writing (ages 4-13)**

John's writing (age 15+)

_Sherlock's Comments_

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The first three chapters of this are not as well written as I could have written then, simply because John is quite young when he writes his first three diaries. If you can't be bothered to read these chapters (I wouldn't blame you) then it is possible to skip straight to the fourth chapter. Or you can just skip the first chapter, which I'm apologizing in advance for if you do want to read it, as I hate it just as much as I'm sure you will. However, IT DOES GET BETTER (!), and I do advise that you read them all, just so you know the background to the story.

+ CHAPTER FIVE IS ON IT'S WAYYYY *screamsss*

Please review, as any advice is very precious to me. Thank you, and enjoy ^.^


	2. John Watsons Diry (4-5)

**John Watsons Diry.**

_You had a diary? It is only acceptable for old ladies and pre-mentrual girls to own a diary, John -SH_

Sherlock! This was hidden. Care to tell me how you just happened to stumble upon it?

_Your drawer was insulting me with it's demeanor of enigma. I was unable to prevent myself from opening it -SH_

* * *

**12 Joon 2003**

**Mummy sed i hav too rite a diry becos it wil help my inglis. **

_Well, it hasn't helped so far. -SH_

Sherlock, I was four! I think that it's quite brilliant for a four year old to be able to write at all!

_When I was four, I was reading 'Great Expectations', and writing a blog about how Carl Powers had, in fact, been violently murdered by an infamous criminal to-be by somehow poisoning his medicine..._

Shut up, Sherlock.

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**15 Joon**** 2003**

**tooday i went too plaigroop and i had fun. i met Searlok Homs and we plaid pirats. evrywon lafd at us. i do not lik over peepl. i only lik Searlok.**

_Ghastly children -SH_

* * *

**27 Awgust 2003**

**i did not want too rite in here for a wiel becos Searlok sed i culd not right gud becos I am an idiort. **

_Which was true -SH_

Was? Hold on, did you just say (in one of your very twisted ways) that I'm clever?

_No. I said you're not an idiot -SH_

**but it is all fin becose hee lets mee plai pirats.**

* * *

**25 Desembr 2003**

**Searlock bowt mee a pirat hat for crismas. i luv it.**

_Don't you still have it, John? -SH_

Shut up.

_Aww, you do? How...cute! Sentiment? -SH_

Go away, Sherlock.

* * *

**30 Janury 2004**

**tooday at plaigroop Searlok sed he foght he lovd me. then he kised me. it felt nis. i fink i luv Sherlock too.**

...I take it you have nothing to say about this entry then?

_No._

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**2 Febury 2004**

**mummy fond owt dat Searlok kised me. she sais he can not anymor becos i can not luv a boy. i hav too luv a gurl. Harry sais mummy is rong and dat luving a boy is caled beeing gay. beeing gay is good.**

**i do not lik mummy anymor so i beleev Harry.**

_Wow._

Wow? Is that all you have to say? Don't hate me Sherlock, this was ten years ago.

_Don't be an idiot John, I don't hate you. But that may all change when I read your NEXT diary... oh, or should I say, 'Journal'? -SH  
_

SHERLOCK!


	3. John Watson's Journal (10)

**John Watson's ****Journal.**

_Because having a 'Journal' is so much cooler than having a 'Diary' -SH_

STOP IT SHERLOCK! How many of these have you read now?

_You mean you have more diar- oh, sorry, I meant Journals? Better start searching for them -SH_

Shit.

* * *

**10 January 2009 **_You were ten? -SH_

**I've become popular. Can you believe it? Me, John Watson, the most popular kid at school. I have loads of friends too, more than I could have when I was around Sherlock. It's great!**

_How kind of you -SH_

This was more than five years ago. Maybe you should read on.

**And yet, mum still thinks I am lonely, and therefore wants me to keep a 'Journal'. Stupid parents. Maybe keeping a Journal will be fun, though. I can say what I want in here. I'll see how it goes.**

* * *

**13 January 2009**

**Maybe being 'cool' isn't as fun as I had thought. The boys all want me to be mean to people. I'm avoiding Sherlock. I know he will hate me now, but at least it means I won't have to say anything horrible to him.**

**They also want me to get a girlfriend. I don't want one because girls are all spotty and they whisper, but I guess I'll have to have one. I have three options:**

**• Sally Donovan- Errrr... no.**

**• Molly Hooper- She's nice and everything, but no. Besides, I think she likes Sherlock, and secretly I think he likes her too. I wouldn't want to get in their way.**

_I did not fancy Molly Hooper -SH_

Whatever you say, Sherlock...

**• Mary Morstan- She is nice, clever. Pretty, I guess. And the best thing is, she's a lot like Sherlock. I would want to spend time with someone like him. I guess I'll have to go for her.**

* * *

**18 January 2009**

**So, lets just say that being cool didn't last very long. Not that I care. I'd rather be with Sherlock. **

**The boys spotted Sherlock sitting against the wall outside the school. Phillip (he goes out with Sally now. Urghh) pulled Sherlock up by his collar and punched him. He fell to the ground, and as the other boys laughed Sherlock looked up at me through his bright blue, teary eyes. Blood was running from his lip.**

**I wouldn't let them beat him up anymore. I walked forwards and picked up Sherlock, and then I walked away. **

**GET THAT! I WALKED AWAY. That makes me a better person than them, right?**

_You were always better than them -SH_

**I begged Sherlock to forgive me, and he did. I couldn't believe it. I really am lucky, I guess. He's the only person I really want to talk to. I wish I had known that sooner.**

_Yes John, you idiot, you should have known sooner -SH_

I know, Sherlock. I know.

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**19 January 2009**

**Being with Sherlock is great. I wish I was as amazing as him.**

_Obviously wishing hasn't worked -SH_

Charming, Sherlock, just charming.

_I'm joking, John -SH_

Are you?

_Yes. You're amazing too -SH_

**I guess I don't need to write this anymore, because now I have Sherlock back I'm not lonely. So...errr, bye.**

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_PS. I found your next diary. You're making this too easy for me... -SH_


	4. Property of John Watson (13)

**This Journal is property of John Watson.**

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**8th February 2012**** -**_So you were thirteen -SH_

**I'm really not sure why I'm putting myself through the torture of writing one of these things again.**

_Nor do I know why I am putting myself through the torture of reading it -SH_

**I think it's because there are things I want to talk about that I can't confidently say to Sherlock. I'm scared to write them down in here for fear that someone else could just pick it up and read everything. Every single little juicy detail. And I'm sure they could use it against me.**

_This gets more and more intriguing by the second. You drama queen, John -SH_

**Anyhow, this is something I need to do, to save my own sanity.**

**There are three things I need to discuss. Firstly, my 'trust issues'. Yeah right. Everybody's just fussing. There is no way that I am mentally unstable. NO. WAY. Besides, I trust Sherlock, don't I? So that's one person. Does he not count?**

**Apparently this whole thing started when I was beaten up at primary school, after I rescued Sherlock. Not that I regret it, of course. I wouldn't have let them lay another finger on him for the world. But it went on for weeks and weeks, until I decided, "Forget being 'the better person'" and punched Phillip in the face. Best thing I've ever done in my life.**

**I couldn't tell Sherlock this, because, well, he shouldn't have to know. I wouldn't want to worry him. I'm fine now.**

_John, obviously you were beaten up. I just never wanted to upset you by talking about it.__  
_

_You should be able to tell me anything. -SH_

**I'm too tired now. I'll write up the rest tomorrow.**_  
_

* * *

**9th February 2012**

**Ok, so the next thing I want to talk about is... urgh, this is embarrassing. I want to talk about girls.**

**I can't talk to Sherlock about this, because he has the same problem but is apparently unable to understand why it is an issue. I am unable to... to want a girl. If you see what I mean. I have tried to get to know some, desperately wanting to have a relationship with someone (that would make me more normal, right?), but I just can't.**

_Why would you want to be normal, John? Normal's boring -SH_

**This brings me onto my next topic. It should be obvious why I can't talk to Sherlock about this.**

**I've talked to my sister about the girls thing, and every time she says it's because, "You want to fuck Sherlock!" That's in her own words, I should probably add. The point is that (and this is going to sound so weird, but) I think that maybe what she says is true.**

**Not literally, obviously I don't want to have sex with him, but if I get older and still feel this way, then I might decide that I do want to have sex with him.**

**No. That wasn't what I meant.**

**Look, the point is that I love him. There. The secret's out. I love Sherlock Holmes. He is my world, and I would never be able to live without him after all this time.**

**I hate him, too. He doesn't make this easy for me. All that with his cheekbones and turning his coat collar up so he looks cool does not help. And that's not mentioning his dark, curly hair, his beautiful blue eyes, his perfect lips. **

**Then there's me. I'm not attractive, not at all. Haven't got the best personality ever. I'm not even half as clever as him. So i****f he really is gay (which I'm sure he isn't), I doubt he would ever want me.**

**I don't think I am going to write any more, actually. Thinking about Sherlock like this will only make me want him more. Not that I think it's possible to want him any more than I already do. **

**I'm glad I wrote this. It's nice to get it all out of my system. Goodbye, for now.**

* * *

Sherlock, I'm sorry.

_Your next diary is even more interesting -SH_

Interesting?

Sherlock, talk to me! I'm sorry.


	5. Keep the hell out of my stuff (15)

Property of John Watson. Harry, keep the hell out of my stuff.

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3rd January 2014

I give up! For too long I've tried to get rid of the strange feeling he gives me, but that boy, god, he's impossible to ignore. As soon as I lay my eyes on him, I'm hooked. He's like a bloody drug. After ten years of this, I give up. And I'm not going to deny it anymore. I love Sherlock Holmes. I need him: his mind, his body, everything that he is. It's just something I am going to have to live with.

Take today as an example. Sherlock dropped by for one of our revision sessions (I help Sherlock with PE, Art and Physics, and he helps me with everything else, the clever sod). My mum was reluctant to letting Sherlock in, probably due to the little kissing 'incident' when I was about five, in which she decided to go completely ballistic and literally banned me from seeing him out of our Playgroup hours for a year. However, Sherlock is brilliant at manipulating people. He's always so kind to her, and she is therefore forced to be equally polite. Of course, Sherlock's personality changes significantly when we're alone.

Sherlock followed me up the stairs, and entered my bedroom, before locking the door behind us. He then proceeded to lay the revision guides out on my floor in some sort of bizarre order, before flopping down onto the floor himself. I stared down at the books to see which lesson we were going to begin with. The first book read, 'Chemistry'. God help me.

I laid down next to Sherlock, unable to stop myself thinking about how much more comfortable we would be in my bed. Sherlock began one of his impossible-to-follow lectures. I think he was saying something about ions, and how many electrons could fit into each ring of an atom. Two, eight, eight... I can't remember after that. I was much more focused on his slow, deep, nasally voice. God, it's sexy! The next thing I know, the book which was previously in his hands landed with a thump on my head, and Sherlock had a go at me for "not listening". I _was_ listening, just not to the right stuff, that's all.

After a few more books we were finally onto Physics, the only subject Sherlock isn't good at. Well I'm not exactly good at it either, I prefer Biology, but Sherlock's still miles better than me at that. So I sat up, facing Sherlock, and started to explain something about the Solar System- some fairly obvious facts that Sherlock had no interest in whatsoever.

"Sherlock, if I have to listen to you, then you have to return the favor."

"But it's pointless, John," he moaned back at me, pouting slightly. God, at that moment I wanted nothing more than to crush Sherlock against me and snog those perfect lips of his until he was begging for mercy.

Sherlock has changed. A lot. He's grown a lot (although he still isn't quite as tall as me yet), but doesn't seem to have filled out at all. That only makes him more perfect, of course. His cheekbones are much more prominent, and because he doesn't have an inch of fat on him, each of his muscles are also incredibly prominent. His eyes are no longer big and round, but more hawk-like. They are still a startling blue. The curls in his dark hair have become much more relaxed. And his skin has become incredibly pale, free of any flaws. He is, without a doubt, impeccable.

I, on the other hand, am definitely not. I'm just ordinary. Ordinary height. Ordinary weight. Ordinarily dressed. Nothing really stands out apart from my physique. I'm pretty sporty, which means I'm more heavily built than average. Not fat, just muscular. I'm not really sure whether or not that's attractive, but I've learned not to care. Sherlock does judge people on their looks; he reads them like a book. If I was too worried about my appearance around Sherlock I would go completely mad.

That's the other thing I love about Sherlock Holmes. His unique, brilliant way of thinking baffles me every time. Somebody knowing your whole life story in a single glance is incredible. Well, I think so, anyway. And then there's his 'Mind Palace', as he likes to call it. When I looked it up the real name for it is the 'Loki Method'. Basically, you put what you want to remember in a certain place in a certain room of your imaginary house. Theoretically you are unable to forget anything. Incredible. What's more, it should take years to master. But obviously, to the great Sherlock Holmes, it only took an hour or so.

And again, there's me. My mental capability is more or less average.

Never mind. Sherlock wants me to practice sports with him next time we meet up, which should be in no less than a day or two. He can't stand being around his strangely normal parents or strangely eccentric brother, Mycroft. I've only seen him once, and I can confidently say that he takes 'dramatic' to a whole new level.

Sports is great fun, especially when Sherlock insists he wants to build up his non-existent physical strength by playing Rugby. He always tackles me unsuccessfully, and I tend to grab him and roll around on the floor with him (he hates getting dirty) or I fling him over my shoulder and skip merrily around while he tries to bash my back in with his fists and screams at me to put him down. So no, Sherlock does not approve. In fact, he always insists that we move onto another game less then five minutes after we begin to play. His record is thirty-two seconds. God, I love him.

Well, I had better stop writing for today. Hopefully I'll see Sherlock again soon.

* * *

3rd January 2014

Sherlock text me at 4:30 this morning, asking if I would like to go to the park to play rugby.

4:30am. Urghhh.

Despite the inconvenient time, I slipped an old t-shirt and jeans on as soon as I read the message, knowing that Sherlock would already be in the park waiting for me. He does this. Every. Time. Although in a way, doing something in the park that early is an advantage because it means there is nobody else around to see you muck about.

I ran to the park, arriving at 5:00. As I had anticipated, Sherlock was already stood there, leaning against a tree, staring at the ground. I've noticed that when he thinks he's alone, Sherlock wears such a mournful expression. He's has never really appeared to be a warm, friendly person. In fact, most people say he's just a freak. I know I don't have the right to say anything, but I've always thought Sherlock seemed like the depressive type. He's just always so down.

Actually, he looks all the more beautiful when he's sad.

I was awoken from my daze when I realized that Sherlock was staring at me. I jogged over to him to find that he was now smiling slightly, his eyes alight with excitement. I loved that. Knowing that Sherlock was happy, and knowing that I had made him that way.

Then my eyes instinctively fell to the rest of his body and... wow. He wore a pair of black jeans which really exaggerated the slimness of his legs. He had also put on a tight, thin, purple t-shirt, which showed off every detail of his exquisite body. It took me all the willpower I had to tear my eyes up, away from his incredibly defined abs.

Sherlock caught the rugby ball I threw at him rather awkwardly, and hugged it defensively with his impossibly thin arms. "Now," I ordered, "try to run past me, and stop me getting the ball." Sherlock looked at me, then around the field. He looked terrified, just stood there awkwardly, clinging to the ball in his arms, his eyes darting nervously from side to side. He's so adorable.

I tackled him three times in total. The first time I grabbed Sherlock around his impossibly slim waist and easily took the ball with my other hand. Sherlock has a strange habit of looking for the nearest person on the opposite team, gladly tossing them the ball, and running in the opposite direction. So obviously he would just hand me the ball if I wanted it without a second thought. I casually lowered my head onto his shoulder. "Sherlock," I breathed onto his cold, pale neck. I swear he shivered. "You can't just willingly hand me the ball."

"Sorry." Sherlock looked down at the ground gloomily. "I don't want to play anymore. Maybe we should-"

"No." I think my arms around him tightened a little. I hope Sherlock didn't notice but, of course, he will have. "You're taking this too seriously. Loosen up."

After a while I finally succeeded in persuading Sherlock to have another attempt, though he didn't look too pleased with me. When he ran at me this time, I grabbed Sherlock again around his waist and began to swing him madly in a (very wonky) circle, and he pleaded for me to let him down. I eventually became too dizzy to stand on my two feet, and fell onto my back, dragging a screaming Sherlock down with me. I still held onto him like he was the most precious thing in the world (which he is).

When I had finally succeeded in halting my uncontrollable laughing, I realized that Sherlock was lying on me, motionless. _Oh no._ He does this, goes into one of his agonizingly quiet states when he is beginning to feel isolated, and unable to communicate with another human being. Now, when Sherlock gets into one of these moods, the worst possible solution is getting mad at him. You have to be as nice to him as possible. Trickier said than done considering that Sherlock Holmes will turn everything you say and do against you.

"Aw, Sherlock," I mumbled, pressing my lips into his soft hair. "Do you know why we're playing this?"

"So I can beat you at something else," Sherlock answered patently. "Geniuses aren't supposed to be defeated by idiots."

And there you have it. Two sentences and Sherlock had already got me practically biting my lip in half to prevent myself from ringing his neck. I had to stay cool. Cool and collected. I swallowed down all the 'colourful metaphors' I had pressing their way up my throat, and replaced them with a half-hearted, "Cheer up, Sherlock."

"I don't want to play this stupid game anymore-"

"We are playing this 'stupid game' because it's fun. Not because I think you're bad at it, or because you to need to improve. I came here because I wanted to have fun with my friend." I rolled over, so Sherlock now lied awkwardly on his back while I straddled his hips. I instantly realized my suggestive position, and Sherlock apparently had too. He lied there, wide eyed, his hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He looked petrified. I wouldn't be surprised if I did too.

Because here I was, with Sherlock Holmes exactly where I had always wanted him. I could have done anything with that body right there and then, and he would have been unable to stop me. Although considering what I wanted to do with him, I'm certain he would have begged me to continue, rather than to stop.

Sorry. That sounded horrible. Sherlock is my friend, and I shouldn't even dream of doing something so... shocking to him. But I do. Oh god, hate me if you will, but I want nothing more than for Sherlock to be mine. And when I straddled him then, he was mine.

Undoubtedly I took full advantage of the situation, and slowly lowered my body onto his. I heard him gasp as my chest lightly touched his, as my lips rested on his neck. And as my hand 'accidentally' brushed over his crotch a panicked moan escaped from his lips. Because Sherlock Holmes had

God, I can't even write it. It sounds so surreal, so incredulous I can hardly believe it myself.

Sherlock Holmes had an erection. Over me.

"I never knew you were gay, Sherlock," I managed to stutter, unable to remove my fingertips from the tip of the lump in his trousers. I'm not quite sure what came over me, but the next thing I knew, my hands were gently drawing circles over his penis, and I couldn't hide a snigger when he moaned again. "Ah. John, p-please..."

I pulled myself away from Sherlock, leaving him panting helplessly on the ground. Not very highly sexed, then. You don't even know how much I wanted to see him orgasm, how much I wanted to hear him scream my name. But I couldn't do that to him for three reasons.

The first and very obvious reason was that we were in a public park. Ah.

The second is that Sherlock is my friend. I could never sacrifice all that we already have. Wanting to (oh, I hate saying this) have sex with him is less important than _needing_ him to be with me.

And thirdly, it would rip him apart. He'd enjoy it, definitely. But he wouldn't want to. He's always thought of himself as asexual. Unable to love. Apparently it's a disadvantage. Maybe because of the cliche reason; all lives end, and all hearts are broken. But I think it's mainly because when you are in a relationship with someone, and doing... what you do in a relationship (if you see what I mean), you are incredibly vulnerable.

Sherlock is able to understand someones life story in a glance. But for someone to do the same to him would be pure agony. Because that's what Sherlock is afraid of: being pregnable, powerless and vulnerable. Now I think about it, that's probably the reason why he doesn't get too close to anyone. So they can't find his pressure points.

He can lie to himself as much as he wants if it makes him happy, but he doesn't fool me. Asexual? Looking at Sherlock then, his lungs still fighting for oxygen, I begged to differ.

I laid down in the grass next to Sherlock as he attempted to calm down. I noticed his hands shoot down to cover his still incredibly visible erection. As he did so his hand accidentally crashed into it, and he whimpered slightly. He quickly recovered from the after effects of his almost laughably poorly executed cover up, and Sherlock turned his head towards me, gazing at me with his sunken eyes. "I'm sorry, John."

"Don't be," I smirked. "It's my fault for being so damn sexy!"

Sherlock grinded his teeth, but despite the angry glare he threw at me, there was no sign of his erection going. He realized I was staring at it. Obviously he did.

"John! Will you stop..."

His eyes. They looked so desperate. Hopeless. "I-I don't know what to do with it. How-"

"Well, from my experience," I said matter-of-factly (and ignoring the fact that he turned bright red when "from my experience" was added), "there is no way of getting rid of an erection. Except, of course..."

"Yes?"

I sighed. Sherlock obviously wasn't catching on. I was going to have to be blunt. "Except giving yourself a handjob. Not," I added quietly, "that you'll need to do much to get yourself to masturbate. You seem to nearly be there already..."

In which I received a fist in the face (and I did deserve that, but it was totally worth it!) Sherlock stood up and walked away. That's when I tackled him for the third time.

Well, I say tackled. What I mean is I grabbed the top of his arms and pushed Sherlock into the tree behind him. And I looked into his eyes. Those beautiful, bright blue eyes. And then at his lips, the corners turned down very slightly. His tense shoulders. The way his hands stiffened, and rose to protect his ribs. And I wanted nothing more than to be able to reassure this perfect boy. I wanted to hold him in my arms, to kiss him, to tell him that I'm sorry. Instead I continued to gaze helplessly into his eyes. I placed both my hands on his cheeks, cupping his face and tilting it very slightly upwards.

Little Sherlock. My little Sherlock.

My head subconsciously leaned down, until our foreheads and noses were touching. He gasped quietly, and I whispered to him. "It's okay, Sherlock. It's all okay." And there we stayed, our eyes closed and our ever-moistening lips only centimeters apart. Listening to each other's shaking breaths. I could feel Sherlock's cheeks burning.

So, a pretty eventful morning, to say the least. Not that Sherlock will think the same. The next time I see him he'll act like this didn't even happen, which is a shame. I like to see Sherlock utterly distraught sometimes. I mean, I don't want him to be upset all the time. I just want him to be human; to admit that sometimes Sherlock Holmes feels things. And not to be ashamed of that. Because he shouldn't be ashamed of himself, not in the slightest. He is perfect, extraordinary, breathtaking, even when he does act like a precocious dick.

I just don't understand why he can't see that.

* * *

2nd March 2014

Snow! How should I describe it to you? Dynamic? Enigmatic?

Late?

I went out with Sherlock today, because the school had been very conveniently closed. We had been planning to go out after school anyway, to Speedy's Cafe. So it just meant that we were able to spend the _whole_ day together instead.

We arrived at the Cafe at about eleven-ish. The whole way through I was ranting at the waiter for insisting that Sherlock was, in fact, my date. And no, Sherlock didn't take the slightest bit of interest. He _could_ have been so reserved yesterday instead.

Because just twenty-four hours ago in Science, Phillip shouted across the classroom something about how me and Sherlock are "faggots," and Sherlock very nearly slaughtered him with his scalpel. I resisted the temptation to cheer Sherlock on, and dragged him off the (I would say 'poor', but after everything he has said and done to Sherlock in the past, maybe not) boy, who was lying on the floor, a bewildered look stuck on his rat-like face. I couldn't help but grin.

I managed to escape from the interior of the Cafe fairly quickly, though Sherlock did complain. Because he was "too cold!" Aww. I very nearly gave Sherlock a bear hug to warm him up. However, since the incident I spoke about last, when we were playing rugby, Sherlock has been even less tolerant to being touched. And this makes him seem even more distant than before. I wasn't sure that could get much worse.

I'm just going to have to go along with it. Maybe what I did to Sherlock then was unfair. Maybe even a best friend can be a little over friendly. I don't know. But I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable, so... so that's the way it has to be.

I will remember it then, that one minuscule fraction of time, when I was able to be close to Sherlock.

Anyway, Sherlock carried on complaining, so I gave him my scarf. I hated it anyway, but it suited Sherlock. The very dark blue added to Sherlock's air of mystery, and it also made it seem as if his eyes were shining just that little bit brighter. I was therefore forced to insist that Sherlock keep it.

I hope the weather will be 'terrible' again tomorrow too. It means that I might have another full day to hang out with him. But this time I might avoid the Cafe.

* * *

28th March 2014

I don't know what to do. Somebody help me. Please.

Mum found out that Harry's going out with Clara just one hour go. Since then, she has already disowned Harry, and hit Clara.

Yes, you read that right. My Mother hit Clara. I can't believe it. Harry has gone to live at Clara's house now until Mum sees sense, but I doubt she will.

What if she found out about me? About Sherlock? Would she abandon me too? Would she do everything in her power to harm Sherlock? My Sherlock?

I love Sherlock Holmes.  
I love Sherlock Holmes.  
I love Sherlock Holmes.

But that doesn't mean that I should.

If it means that I could get hurt- if it means that Sherlock could get hurt- I can't do this anymore. It's not fair on either of us. So I need to stop it. Just stop this. I'm being so selfish.

As Sherlock has told me in the past, "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."

So I'm going to follow his advice. And I'm never going to care again.

* * *

_Meet me in the park tomorrow at 3:00am sharp -SH_

Why? Do you want to tell me how much you detest me now?

Because if you do, I won't go anywhere near you again. I promise.

Sherlock?

Please.


End file.
